


Say it again

by ASOUEfan



Series: A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice [2]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: (by the end), A lot of caning, Aftercare, Angst and Feels, Back Pain, Caning, Chronic Pain, Control Issues, Dom/sub, End of the World, F/F, Feel-good, Good sex fixes any problem, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Self-Medication, Sex as Therapy, Slow Burn, Swearing, Wilhemina has issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Wilhemina Venable had dealt with her back her whole life. Rejected the questioning looks of strangers, why was a young woman walking with a cane? Rejected the scorn of lovers who dared to pass comment. The end of the world seemed so perfect, until her stay there is longer than expected, and she runs short on pain meds.You notice things the others do not, the change in her step, the wincing expression, and as a Doctor - or before the bombs thats who you were at least, you're probably the only person who can help, if you dare try.(loose Sequel to The Ties that Bind Us. Or can be read as a stand alone. I wrote this one first.)
Relationships: Wilhemina Venable/Original Female Character(s), Wilhemina Venable/You, wilhemina venable/reader
Series: A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614769
Comments: 58
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to use American medical terms where appropriate to keep it authentic to the shows universe location, but Im not american so I apologise if Ive got any wrong.

The music room was filled with the light, bored chatter of the inhabitants of Outpost 3. They were weary with the repetition, with the enforced strictness that as time went on, made less and less sense. Dinah Stevens relaxed over the edge of the sofa cradling her champagne flute as if it were something tastier, Coco St Pierre gossiped with her assistant Mallory, who stood with a tray of glasses pretending to do work. You sat in the corner of one of the sofa’s, nose in a book like always. You weren’t much of a social butterfly, despite having done a job that was people-oriented, it was easy to keep a professional distance when you wore a white coat and stethoscope. People knew who you were without asking, and nurses only bothered you when they needed something specific. You did what they wanted, and they went away again. It was oddly masochistic, considering how much you craved your own quiet space, to be in a busy hospital full of people you would rather avoid. But somehow, it made you good at what you did.

After a year of enforced socialisation with the same people, you had decided you didn't particularly like any of them. The younger two, Timothy and Emily were nice enough, and easier to be around than the pompous self-payers that exhibited such elevated levels of narcissism, you were sure you could diagnose them with something psychological if you tried hard enough.

But there was plenty of books and nothing but time to fill, and people tended to bother you less if you had a book in your hand.

There was one person however, that continuously peaked your interest. It made the days more bearable, watching her, trying to work her out. The Purples were as scared of her as the Greys, and most had written her off as a _crazy bitch with a cane fetish_ , as Coco had summed up the other night, rather than bothering to look any deeper. But you felt a kinship with her, not because you knew a goddamn thing about her, but like her, she was on the periphery. Not part of either group, and barely tolerated by both. You knew what that was like, to be on the outside looking in, distant, while forced by nothing more than etiquette and proximity to deal with people at all.

The sound of her cane announced her before you caught sight of her, a long shadow casting down the hallway as she walked, stilted and slow into the music room. The chatter died down a little, and furtive glances were sent her way. Was there news? Were they in trouble? A random sweep for radioactive particles? It put everyone on edge, and as you flicked your eyes up over the lip of your book, you could tell she revelled in it. It amused you, watching how she commanded the room into fearful silence without speaking a word.

“Good evening Miss Venable,” the young Timothy said, politely from across the room in a well taught attempt at breaking the ice.

Except there was no chance of breaking through her impenetrable icy wall. “Is it?” Miss Venable tilted her head a touch, a question in her eyes.

“Is it what?” He blinked back and put his hand in his pocket trying to look casual, as if her demeanour didn't make him feel like a kindergartener.

She drew a short breath. “A _good_ , evening.” Her words were piercingly slow, as if she wanted each one to wound him. You let your book fall closed, leaving your thumb inside the pages to keep your place. She automatically commanded your complete attention, and as her gaze cast across the room, she catches your eye momentarily. Your breathing shallows.

“Its just the polite thing to say,” He looked awkwardly back to Emily, then you, wondering what he had gotten himself into, just trying to be respectful.

She moved through the group towards the square leather chair, the only place to sit that was separate from the other sofas. Miss Venables rarely joined you, but when she did it changed the mood in the room. She always focused on the darker sides of life, whether it was from the weight of her responsibilities managing this place, or because it genuinely got to her, what had happened. You weren't sure. “ _7 billion_ people lay rotting above us. I would say there is little _good_ about it. In fact you will all be going early to bed. It has been one year, together, surviving in this Outpost. I would say a period of quiet self reflection is required.”

Coco puffed selfishly. “Well its not my fault they're dead - “

Miss Venable tapped her cane and the sound echoed, silencing the blonde and any potential retorts from the rest of the room.

You watch as she sits herself down on the black leather, stiffly bending in the middle, her features straining, biting down a soft wince. Miss Venable was always careful in her movements; you had studied her gait for the last year and deduced the problem was neither leg, nor pelvis based. But this expression was new, it definitely marked a change in something.

The Purples began gathering themselves together and murmuring frustrations as they left, but you wait until last before moving. The room was emptying, and you hang on, appreciating the precious moments with Miss Venable outside of simply mealtimes. You untuck your legs from under you and shuffle forwards until your feet touched the floor, making it look as though you were making strides to go as well. But you pause, glancing to the doorway until the last Grey was gone and you turn to her. “Is everything alright?” You swallow, you didn’t mean it to sound so familiar.

Her fingers played with the head of her cane, resting at her side. “Of course.” She seemed irritated by the question, as if such pleasantries between humans were lost on her. “Why would you me ask that?” A dark eyebrow quirked challengingly at you. _Go on. I Dare you. Say something to get yourself in trouble, nothing would give me greater pleasure than having an excuse to backhand you._

You tucked the book neatly in your arm, sucking on your lower lip. “You just seemed …” You can’t hold her eyes, a nervousness sidling up your back and wrapping it hands over your mouth, you’re unable to articulate your concern.

Her tongue touched her lip. You think for a moment she is going to say something more, as if it was on her mind and needed to come out the way your ill-placed concern for her did. “I suggest you join the others.”

You deflate a little, nodding. “Of course. Night, Miss Venable.”

_Not good night. You’re careful to avoid the others’ mistake._

You wander to the doorway of the music room, checking back over your shoulder as you always did. Get that one last look of her to imprint in your mind. But this time it wasn’t the subtle impression of her you were used to, for her eyes were predatorily fixed on you.

—————-

Wilheminas eyes were filled with worry. Her finger scraped the bottom of the plastic pot, only a few pills swirling around her finger. She managed to snare one and drag it out the pill-pot, dropping it straight on her tongue and swallowing it down dry. She closed the bathroom cupboard door, and padded back towards her bed, her bare feet unsteady on the cold bare stone. Her cane was resting against the bed and hobbling back to the bed she cursed herself for thinking the short steps to the bathroom and back would be fine without it.

As soon as it was within reach she snatched it into her hand, relieved by the ease of using it, taking herself the few steps to the head of the bed before sitting. She popped the cap of the pill-pot and carefully tipped the contents onto her night-stand. A nervousness crept in her mind. There weren’t that many left. Using her index finger she counted them, pushing each into a little pile to ensure they were counted correctly. Seventeen. Just over two weeks worth … or one week if she kept up her twice a day habit. Her need for them had increased over the last 2-3 months, but she didn't realise quite how much she had eaten into her limited supply.

She rubbed her fingers across her forehead needing to make a decision. Picking up one white tablet, she turned and tested it, then snapped it in half. A sigh escaped her lips, concluding it would have to do.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few days later when you noticed it again. The cubes of breakfast had been consumed and silent Greys pressed between you collecting plates or refilling glasses of water for those that wanted it. You had swapped places with Andre, since the Stu incident he wanted to sit as far up the table from Miss Venable as he could. And if you were honest, your agreement hadn’t been entirely altruistic. You didn't mind the proximity to her, and it tended to stop anyone else from talking much to you, which was a bonus. You kept your book on your lap under the table, turning the pages hoping no-one noticed, or if they did they wouldn't bother asking what you were doing.

Miss Venables sipped her water, surveying the scene with her usual disdain. It was curious, to be given such a position at the end of the world when she seemed to want nothing to do with any of you. But you could understand that. Miss Meade appeared from the central hallway, an important look on her chiselled face as she strode the length of the table to lean and whisper, something for only Miss Venables to hear.

Miss Venables nodded a murmured response at Meade, then turned back to the table. “It seems I am needed elsewhere,” She announced, pushing her chair elegantly back from the table and pressing her weight into her cane to stand, her free hand smoothing down the front of her dress. “Enjoy the rest of your meal, hopefully you will remember to be thankful that you’re eating at all.” The other Purples didn't seem to agree, their cubes barely touching the edges of their stomachs or sating their hunger. But she was right in some fashion, as unsatisfying as it felt, it _was_ still food. “Not everyone left in this world has such luxury.” She bunched her lips tightly, feeling a shooting pain down her back and across her hip.

You look up from your book. There was a moment of stillness that the others around the table had not yet noticed, and when she moved one leg to step out from the table the pain shot down her back again and she hissed.

Everyone stopped, their conversations far less important than what just happened. You feel powerless to stop their curious looks, their murmured questions to one another. Was the omnipotent Miss Venable showing weakness? She takes a sharp breath, and starts to walk, but its difficult and she leans too heavily on her cane. Without thinking you stand and reach your hand out to help her, but Miss Meade is already there glaring the room into submission. “Get off me - “ Venable snarls at the both of you, fiercely defending her independence. “I hear any of you - utter a single word … “ The menace of her words is delivered between painful panting breaths. You retract your offered hand and slowly sit back down. _Not now,_ you tell yourself. _Its too public._

Even Coco held her tongue, literally biting the inside of her cheek as long as she could to keep it in until she was gone. “Seriously who does she think we’re going to tell?” She whispered argumentatively, the clack of Venable’s cane barely out of earshot. “We’re all here.”

Andre lazed his arm on the back of his chair, downing the last of his mineral water and getting up from the table. “And she had that cane when we all first got here. Whatever she’s got, she had when the Co-operative hired her.”

“Typical I get the Outpost run by a cripple,” Coco spouted unkindly.

You flip your book closed. You’d heard enough of their bitching, and though it would draw attention speaking up in her defence - or speaking at all, you felt compelled. “She could be genuinely hurt,” You pipe up, shaking her head at them.

Coco pouted her lips theatrically, touching her hands to her coiffed hair. “And? Like the bitch hasn’t done her fair share to us. Its karma I say.”

“No-one cares what you say dearie,” Evie drawled, picking an easy fight.

“Or what I say, evidently,” You mutter to yourself, leaving the others to their petty quarrels, slipping out of your chair carrying your book close as always.

Thats twice in as many days she had faltered, her step, her movement. It _is_ a difference, you tell yourself, and not just because you’ve conjured some imagined crush on the woman - but because you hadn't lost your 6 years of med school training and 5 years on the job just because you were in a subterranean bunker. If she was sick who would take over the Outpost? Who would run things in her absence should something happen? You had a duty of care to her and everyone in the Outpost, even if you weren’t there in a professional capacity, maybe you could help.

You’d just gotten lucky, in the right place at the right time to jump in the back of the van when another _Guest_ failed to show. But they took you anyway, and for that you owed the Co-operative something.

Miss Venable stood close to Mead sharing a hushed conversation, two Guards flanking Mead behind her and taking instructions with a military obedience. You wait, hang back by the entryway until whatever they’re talking about was done. Mead scares you in a way Miss Venable does not, perhaps that was misplaced but something about Venable has always seemed, different to you. Her tight-lipped mean streak didn't come from the same place as Mead, who had the aura of an ex-soldier about her - one that could kill and maim on command without giving it a second thought. She saw human life as a flippant irritation to be stamped on.

Miss Venables however had to carefully conserve it with an uneasy balance of temptation and correction. Offer enough of an incentive while being quick to tap the crook and keep her flock on the right path. Except it was a cane and not a crook, but as an analogy - you brain wanders by itself - you stop thinking for a moment, realising she's walking off.

You creep quietly after her. Its not weird. Its just, you’re concerned and have every right to ask her whats wrong and you want that to be said in a private place - thats all. She pauses at the central fire to light a candle and twist it into the metal holder, balancing it devotedly in one hand, using her other on her cane as always. _Miss Venable -_ you want to call out, but the words die in your throat.

You follow her further through the catacombs of Outpost 3, reaching the tall hollowed out stair well of beige stone, the stairs winding up along the outside wall as if carved from the earth itself. Each placement of her foot is precise, a slide and a tap, foot then cane, foot then cane as she ascends the stairs. You heart is hammering in your chest, if you come out from the doorway she’ll see you, know you’ve been following her and you know theres no excuse you could make that sounds legitimate. You falter, looking back behind you and debate forgetting the whole thing. Its not your problem, whatever problem she has, theres nothing you can do about it anyway. So why obsess over something you cant control?

Foot then cane, foot then cane; a slip of a foot and a scrambling sound - you gasp suddenly and hear the metal candle holder bounce with a tinny clang against the stone. “Shit!” Miss Venables yelps in a rare moment of emotion, something of herself escaping through a crack in her steely exterior. Her hands fly out in front of her to catch her fall, dropping her cane as the body’s reflexes kicked into action.

Your feet move without thinking, leaping up two steps at a time to catch her elbow trying to steady her as she falls. “Miss Venable - !” You cant help it, you know she probably wont like it but you don't care, she needs someone and _you’re there._ “Are you alright - did you hit anything- “

She tries to bat you away but to even push up onto her feet she feels her spine catching a nerve and she sucks in a sharp breath, hating herself for needing to lean on you. The immediate closeness that happens when you ease her upright, takes your breath away. “I’m fine,” Miss Venables dismisses you, forbidding the notion that _she needs you_ to even take root.

Miss Venables shirks you away leaning down to collect her cane from the steps, but she loses her balance and you grab her waist before she falls right down, supporting her, and _God_ it feels incredible to have her in your arms. “Did you fall on your wrists? Against this stone you could have fractured - “

“I said I’m fine!” Her voice raises angrily. Snatching the cane successfully on the second attempt she puffs an agitated breath at you, sidestepping so her back is against the wall safely away from the edge and she can regain her composure. “Pick up that candle.” She barks, squeezing the silver birds head of her cane so hard her knuckles turn white but its all she can do to hide the way her hands are shaking. The pain is unbelievable, she’d twisted something, she just knew it. The fixed nature of her back meant the pressure had sent shockwaves through her hips to her knee, and it _throbbed_ from where it had struck the ground. Miss Venable was not going to admit to herself that she’d had a fright. The adrenaline was surging through her body and her cheeks were blush and pink; she fought against it, holding her breath and counting until she could steady herself.

You concede, leaving her be and fetching the extinguished candle and holder from where it lay. It had snapped in half on its fall, the two broken halves held together just by the wick, and its not lost on you that it could have been her - _that candle could be her back,_ held limply together. You return up the few steps to where she waited, looking more like herself again, and offer her the items back. “Here,” You say gently, then duck your gaze letting her know your view of her hadn’t changed. She was still in charge, still a force to be reckoned with. She was not weak. She shakes her head, bidding you to keep them.

Miss Venable flicked her gaze up the rest of the circular staircase, an unease in the back of her mind she didn't like the feeling of, then looked back at you. “Escort me to my room.”

“Of course,” You reply quickly, climbing the stairs to join her on the step and extend her your arm, keeping your book, the candle and the candle holder in your other. It wasn’t the best balancing act but you were going to manage it even if the Gods sent a hurricane at you, because she had invited you to escort her and you damn sure weren’t going to say no.

You weren’t really sure what you thought of her, of course. Only that she was the single interesting thing in this dungeon, the thing that held your interest and your thoughts when they wandered. It was a sort of, fascination. Not overtly sexual but not without its fancies either.

You mirrored her careful step, walking beside her and accepted whatever she needed. For a few paces it was a heavier lean, then lightened as you reached the top of the stairs. She paused, and you looked to her waiting for her to decide, for her cue to when she was ready. You walk together along the upper corridors, letting her lead. You’d never seen her from this angle, it felt wrong somehow to be given such closeness. You felt guilty at enjoying that chance to help. “I wanted to ask, after dinner thats why I - “ You start, then wonder if you should have said anything at all. You feel yourself heating, your palms sweating and you cant take it back.

“You mean to say you were following me.” She stated. She pulls you to a stop in front of her bedroom door. Taking her hand from you she settles both hands atop her cane and squares herself, looking directly at you. You drop your gaze. She taps her cane, impatient. She's in pain and hasn’t got the time to waste on your insecurities.

“Yes,” You admit, your neck flushing, forcing yourself to remember _why_ you had followed her in the first place. It wasn’t idle adoration. You needed to ask if she was alright, and respected her enough to do so out of earshot of the others. You understood there were things that people would only admit when they were given time. “You stumbled. The other day, too. You were wincing.” You tell her with a firm but softly tender expression. You were aching to get across somehow, _pathetically,_ that you’re different. “I notice these things.”

The corner of her mouth tightened. Her eyes lift and look past you, then around as if uncomfortable being confronted by her mortality. Her fingers stretch and tighten over the head of her cane, and her shoulders lift as she takes a breath - _she's definitely in pain_. “I don’t know what you _think_ you saw, but you’re overstepping,” Miss Venable replies defiantly, bringing her focus back to you with a

formidable intensity in her eyes you’ve never seen before.

Its all you need to see. It punches you in the chest and ruins any thought you might have contemplated, that a companionship of sorts might, _just might,_ find its way from this into existence. A sour taste fills your mouth and you wonder how you could’ve been so stupid. “I apologise,” You murmur, stepping onto your back foot, putting distance between you.

Her cane clacks the ground, her jaw clenching at you as though she could barely contain her hate for you in this moment. “I apologise, _Miss Venable_.”

“I apologise Miss Venable.” You repeat, barely a breath.

Her shoulder turns from you unlocking her bedroom door twisting the handle and leaving, not even giving you a second glance.

————

The rest of the day had been a long swirling mass of hours alone in your room. You’ve lit the candle and placed the candle holder - _her candle holder_ on your bedside table. You had carried it for her, _but she hadn’t even cared about it by the end._ Lying on your bed staring at it, it seems odd having something new in your bedroom, even more peculiar knowing its hers.

Perhaps its not. It could just be a generic one belonging to the Outpost and it bears no possessive quality to her at all. You flop onto your back feeling foolish, and even more isolated than you did before.

Your one chance to talk to her, and you blew it.

————

Wilhemina had kept the lights down low, using only the fireplace to give light to the room. She didn't want to spend the energy walking around and lighting each candle in its votive, and for once doubted her decision to keep even the Greys from her room. She desired a space that was just hers, not for Greys to come in and change her sheets or wash her clothes - instead she left them out on the landing in a heap for someone to pick up and take care of.

Having finished off some work at her desk, not coming out of her room since the incident on the stairs that morning, she paused, taking a refreshing mouthful of water. Folding her hands across her waist a thought occurred to her.

She leafed through the bottom drawer of her desk finding the right lever file, the original entrance paperwork still there. She had read them all when you first arrived of course, then found them to be of little value. Who you were before the bombs held no meaning anymore, but she remembered yours because it was scratchily filled in by hand, not a well typed and printed out copy like the others. You, like Mallory and Mr Gallant had not been on the original manifest, instead lucked out and took the places of others less fortunate than you, too far from the Outpost to take shelter there.

She pushed the drawer shut with her fingertips and opened the beige manila file reading down your bio, her finger tapping with irritation over your occupation answer. _Doctor_. Wilhemina ground her teeth in defeat. Of course you are.

You had been observant where the others were lazy, remarking and noting something right in front of them all - but only you had seen it.

You were intelligent, where the others had wilfully dumbed themselves down with daytime television and fashion.

You were the only one to take advantage of the many classical books saved within the shelves of the Outpost, instead of leaning on one another for idle chatter to fill the empty void of endless hours.

Wilhemina flipped it shut and slid it across her desk, considering what little options she had. She swivelled her chair and took her cane, padding across the room with it toward her bedroom door, clutching the doorframe for extra support as she went. Sitting and cradling the cane between her thighs on the bed she counted her pain medication out again, squeezing her eyes shut remembering her stupidity.

_She’d shut the door, stared at it for a second knowing you would likely be on the other side of it. Usually she would have waited until she saw the shadow you your footsteps go, but this time, there was no time. She’d hastily fled to her bedroom, waves of nauseating electric pain coursing through her back and hip and settling in her knee before shooting right back up again and fuck it was overwhelming. Tears pricked her eyes as she snatched a handful of broken up pain pills and tossed them in her mouth without thinking, without counting and crunched and chewed them between her teeth, taking only a sip of water at the end to gulp them down. She slid down the side of her bed to the floor defeatedly. She didn't know how long she’d sat there, if she’d taken too many or had simply knocked herself out but time had definitely passed when she had opened her eyes again. Her back was stiff and she was sitting on the cool floor and the few remaining half tablets were scattered around her. But at least the pain had gone._

She had destroyed any notion of carefully counting them out, saving them and making them last. A clumsy mistake, one driven by pain that brought only more, and now she was facing managing without them. It would be dinner soon, and the Guests of Outpost 3 would expect their usual intimidating Venable to be seated with them. In fact, it was more than necessary - she couldn’t risk another slip-up after the meal like last time. They had all seen that, and such weakness would not be tolerated long. They would take advantage of her and flout her rules, destroy the civility she had cultivated so neatly.

 _Call her._ Wilhemina’s subconscious ordered her aggressively.

Her eyes fell shut and concluded this was now the course she had to take, to place her trust in another, in _you_. She replaced the few little half-pills into the pot and laid it on the night-stand, pushing to her feet.

It wasn’t that Miss Mead was always waiting outside her door, for she did have duties, work orders and safety checks to make, but Wilhemina knew the womans loyalty would only let her be so far away, and coming out of her room she barely had to call her name for the sergeant like boot-steps of Miss Mead to come down the hall.

“You need something?” She asked brightly, her dark beady eyes hanging on Venables every word.

Wilhemina clicked her neck with and frown turning her head this way and that, then looked down at Mead. “Yes. I need you to fetch someone.” She held out the personnel file and Mead took it, checking the front page for your name and photo.

Miss Mead scanned the page and scoffed, closing the file feeling affronted. “What do you need _her_ for?” She scowled, she didn't know what you could _possibly_ do for Venable that she could not. She was loyally at her side, not _you_. You sat all day reading wasting your hours in daydreams and words. “I can take care of - “

“You’re not a doctor.” Wilhemina cut in, bunching her lips.

Mead hesitated, glancing about and took half a step closer. “Are you sick?” But her words were met with nothing but a clack of Venable’s cane and raging eyes that bid her away. “Right away Miss Venable.”

Wilhemina turned back into her bedroom, rolling her eyes. Such loyalty she could afford from a dog, but from a person it was tiresome. Mead had a military background and as such never crossed a word she said, which obviously Venable appreciated, but it wasn’t the same as _wanting_ to be obedient. _Wanting_ to be instructed.

Wilhemina sighs. She clenches her fists and wishes she were different. But pain is the one thing she understands. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Mead knocks on your door, she's the last person you expect it to be. In truth you had no idea who it was, because no-one ever _looked_ for you. You often wondered if anyone would notice at all, were you not to turn up to breakfast one day.

So finding the stocky woman glowering at you beckoning you go with her, you’re initially skeptical. You slip your feet into your grey pumps (you’d swapped a mink coloured silk pair with one of the Greys for a more practical set) and come to the door, folding your arms. “For what?”

“Miss Venable wants to see you, so I suggest you drop the attitude.”

A younger you would have argued _I don't have an attitude_ , but you don't care what Mead thinks. Miss Venable had called for you, _you._ After this morning? You’d never thought she would speak to you again let alone send her attack dog to fetch you. All of the day’s wallowing was forgotten, and you nod immediately.

You pull the door shut behind you and follow Mead to your destination; she says nothing and doesn’t look back. Her posture is moody and hunched, and you get the feeling she's pissed at you. There’s no point pressing her cos hell, she's not important. Miss Venable has asked for you; and even if she’s gonna yell at you, berate you tell you to keep your nose out of her business, tell you you’re one strike away from becoming radioactive cannibal fodder, so be it. Its _something_.

Mead holds herself to attention outside Venables door, knocking and waiting for the call. She opens Venables door for you gesturing in with her arm, making it clear she wasn’t welcome inside, and would take care of the door right after you. You make a weak smile at Mead hoping she doesn’t trip you over on the way in out of spite, just as you walk over the threshold.

The door is closed behind you. You glance nervously behind you at it - your exit no longer an option. “Take a seat.” You hear, though you’re not sure which direction its coming from. The living space is like a trapezium, with angled corners as though it had been fitted into the pre-existing shell of the Outpost, making the room just end up wonky. There was a door to the left and to the right, neither you can see through. But it wasn’t dissimilar to the bedrooms of most Purples, except without the bed. One of the other doors must be a bedroom, you reason.

You lean on the nearest of the square leather chairs and sit down, both positioned by the fire with a circular wooden coffee table between them. Theres a wooden work desk with the usual accoutrements, pen tidy, organisers and such. You peer curiously from where you’re sat, stretching your neck up wanting to look what she had on her desk. What did she actually have todo? You ponder only for a few minutes, because you hear her cane and she walks quietly into the right hand doorway.

Her presence makes you sit a little straighter, then stand thinking it possibly politer. You try and smile, but your neves get the better of you and you just end up looking a fool. She walks softly toward you and your eyes run the length of her body, for you’ve never seen her in her own territory like this. The dress was the same, but you notice her gloves and shoes are off. Seeing the black translucent tights running out from under her dress, down her calves and right over her toes, you know nothing about this is ordinary. You find something about her stockings terribly erotic, and you scold yourself even though you know its been too goddamn long since you’ve been with a woman.

She winces as she walks, not hiding the shift in her gait this time, and half shuffles into the chair opposite you, controlling a fall into it rather than actually sitting.

Either way she is down, and you sit then too. You press your palms together. “Miss Venable, I just wanted to say before you start - about this morning I’m really sorry that - “

She holds her hand aloft and you pause. “Don’t apologise for being the only person here with a shred of chivalry.” She draws a long breath and sighs it out through her nose, tipping her cane back at her side but never letting go of it.

The way she fondles its silver-tip distracts you momentarily. “If I’m not here to be told off, then…”

“You were a doctor. Before the bombs.” She states, her lips tight and expectant. “It says so in your file. Unless, that was a lie simply to sound better when you got here, like you would be thrown out again if you were a shop keeper.” Her eyebrow twitches, the possibility of it baiting her into the belief she will be left in pain like this forever, a thought that makes her eyes growl with determination.

You shake your head quickly. “No, its true. I was an Intensivist,” You answer, probably the most you’ve said about yourself to anyone in 12 months. The opportunity to share a little of yourself with her was exhilarating - but why was she interested now? You suck your lips in, seeing the slight clenching of her brow, not understanding what you meant but too proud to say anything. “Like, when a person is admitted into the ICU. Its not the surgeons that look after you, they chop, sew, and go. Doctors that look after the sickest of patients in ICU are called Intensivists,” You explain further, your words running out of you as though a cork had been lifted from a bottle. “I liked the machines.” You say, knowing you probably sound like an utter nerd to her but to you its the most natural thing in the world and you would say anything to sit here with her a little longer. “The patients were generally too sick to be conscious so I would, tinker the numbers. Balance everything. The body generally follows rules of how it behaves after certain injuries and surgeries, predicting the patterns by the numbers is a skill that - “

She sighs tightly and her eyes cast momentarily to the ceiling, before landing them back on you, depressed with how long this was all taking. You see she's lost interest and you stop, ducking your gaze to your lap in embarrassment. “You don’t really do people, do you.That much is obvious.” Miss Venable shakes her head with almost amused by how excited and nervous you are to be talking to someone, have someone be _interested._ The fact you kept yourself separate from the other Purples had not escaped Venables attention, nor had the way you always lifted your eyes when she walked in the room. “You likely haven’t spoken to another human being in the last 12 months and now your whole life story comes _spewing out_ like a stream of consciousness …” She would usually pale at your pathetic-ness, but this isn’t the time. “When all I need to know is if you can do anything about - _the situation,_ or not.”

“More than likely,” You reply hurriedly, clearing your throat and trying not to take her words as an insult, even though you know they were likely meant as one. “If you tell me whats wrong.”

She straightens her posture, as if your question made her physically uncomfortable. “I fell.” Venable answered evasively. “You were there. You saw it.“

You huff. “There are a thousand reasons that could make someone fall.” You need to push her a little, and the more you talk the more you feel something of your old confidence returning, a work demeanour that you used in the hospital. “I mean before that. You changed your gait around 2 weeks ago and its gotten worse. Plus, theres that - “ You point at her cane, currently being cradled across her knees. “I doubt its a fashion accessory.” 

Miss Venable scoffs at your audacity. “I called you here for a _new_ problem. Not one I have suffered with my whole life.”

You shift forwards on your seat, leaning you elbow up on the side of the chair trying to look as relaxed as you can even though adrenaline pumped you full of anticipation. So there _was_ something wrong, you weren’t imagining it. You’re almost too pleased, not that she's suffering of course not, but that you _hadn’t been seeing things_. You noticed and she knows it, and she’s trusting you. “There’s this thing called Doctor-patient confidentiality.” You repeat knowing everyone in the world already knows this, but you hope it will put her at ease enough she can actually tell you the problem. “Whatever you tell me, I can’t tell a soul.” Before the bombs this wasn’t strictly true. But there was no police, no government, no-one to report to except the woman before you. So you would, _quite literally_ be bound in confidence to her. “But I can’t do anything unless you talk to me. Or show me. Either way.”

She lifted her hand, fingers stroking her neck with a pensive expression. She wasn’t entirely rebuffing you, but she wasn’t keen either and it was probably the most emotion you’d ever seen from her.

Wilhemina dug her nails into her cane, the self hatred rising in her gut and twisting her insides. She rarely revealed her back to anybody, and had spent enough of her formative years being _examined_ by doctors to be put off even the suggestion of further monitoring or testing. Add that to the derisive and downright infantile comments of past-lovers, she had learnt to hate herself, her _deformity,_ everything about her that was not perfect yet impossible to be fixed.

She had read enough fairy tales as a girl to know those seen as _different_ were often exiled onto the peripheries of society, or others saw such differences as _the devils mark_ and marked someone out as evil. The external display of an inner fault.

Wilhemina had long accepted the darkness in her, and that this was her punishment. “Come behind me.” The fingers from her neck indicated as much pointing behind her shoulder, tapping the back of her dress. “Pull the zipper, _Doctor,"_ She bites _"-_ and you’ll have all the answers you need.” Her voice was quieter, distant and had lost some of its strength.

You stand, moving silently round the back of her chair as indicated, taking her zipper between your shaking fingers, knowing you will be the first and last person in this Outpost to know the truth. To be offered such intimacy from her was like glimpsing behind the curtain of a theatre, to the workings and secrets that brought the public performance to life. You drag the zip down, your heart hammering in your chest. You control yourself and don’t react. _So this was it._ Upper cervical scoliosis, and a bad one at that. “How old were you when it started?” You murmur, parting the sides of her dress only as far as you need to to understand the severity of her curvature.

“Is this _really_ relevant?” She hisses. You want to stroke your fingers down it, follow the wave of her spine with your fingertip until it straightens, but there was nothing to come of such a compulsion.

You bring the sides of her dress together once more and zip it up, respectfully covering her. “I just want to build up a picture of what I’m dealing with. Then we can talk options.” You say, feeling your way back into your old skin, repeating mantras you used to use with patients.

“Twelve. Maybe thirteen.” She touches a hand to her hairline, making sure between the high collar of her dress and her hair, that not a single strand had come loose.

“Did you parents consider surgery to correct it?” You ease around her chair and sit back opposite her.

A bitter laugh escapes her. “The meagre insurance offered to looked-after children by the state was pitiful, at best. Barely covered the x-rays required to monitor it.”

“You were in foster care,” You breath the words in disbelief, you cant believe she would admit something like that to you. You can barely unpick what it means or how it could have affected her before she continues, and your racing thoughts are silenced with a flash of her eyes.

“It was a system laced with cruelty, one only to be suffered through and survived. There was no _care_ , involved.”

You falter, dropping your eyes. She has more history than you could ever imagine. What could someone like you even say? You train your features not to move, not to show the sadness her admission brings you, how it changes your perception of her entirely. Often the most assaulting of personalities hid a broken person underneath.

“So what treatment did they have you on?” You ask, pressing your hands together in your lap. You want to take in every detail you see, re-learn everything you know about her, frame her actions and behaviours with new clarity.

“Oh it varied,” She crowed in contempt. “One clinician recommended one thing, the next another. Big Pharma making all that money off of _my pain._ ” Venables concedes an answer, touching her fingers to her temple as she feels a wave of nauseating pain bolt down her back. “Pain patches worked conclusively, but they were virtually _impossible_ to put on due to the location of the - the - “ She struggles to finish her sentence.

“Scoliosis.” You say for her. You wonder if she’s ever said the word out loud. “So you were just palmed off with pain medication.” You want to ask more but you’re unsure how much she can take.

“Recently its, been a combination. These and these…” Miss Venable produces two deep orange-brown pots with white lids, the usual sort with a label on the side. You squint and read the square typescript, drug, dosage. The next line makes you pause, feeling a fluttering between your thighs when you read her name and you have to try not to smile.

 _Wilhemina_ Venable. So she had a first name.

You shake your head at yourself, pushing the thought to one side. “Have you got more more? This pot is empty and this one is virtually -“

“Can you help or not,” Venable cuts you off, bringing her cane to the floor and tapping it, her expression returning to its steely default.

Suddenly, the pieces fall into place. “You’re out of meds,” You whisper, like some sudden unholy thought had crossed your lips, something that daren't be uttered. Her wincing expression, the faltering step, the stumble on the stairs -it all made sense. “Shit.” You bite your thumb as you think. The pain was limiting her movement, causing the weakness the tightness the guarding, and no _wonder._ These pills were strong. Without them …? “Does the Outpost not have any medical supplies?” You ask skeptically. 

“I had them brought over. I have virtually no idea what _any of it is_ \- “ Miss Venable gestures across the room to beside the door, where two large black cargo bags sit inconspicuously. “But needless to say, medical care was not the top priority for the Co-operative.” You jump to your feet and roam over to fetch them, lifting them and bringing them back on to the coffee table between you and Venable, staying on your feet to unzip them both as she talks. “Surviving, remains the only objective.”

“There has to be more to it than just surviving.”

“The Visionaries are named as such because _they_ had a vision. I play my part, and carry this ark of humanity through to its conclusion,” She says as you search. “Further details will be delivered when required, I’m sure.”

There are bandages, band-aids and bottles of disinfectant. Syringes and staple guns for minor wounds, basic surgical instruments and stitches. You unzip the large round tub that takes up a good half the bag, and as you get inside it you still, and your eyebrows raise. You know the name of the medication instantly. “Theres a ton of radiation meds,” You mutter with an ironic huff. The Co-operative clearly didn't plan on shooting Guests for the sake of one _nano particle_ of gamma radiation. You mentally wonder what other rules maybe have been exaggerated as you rifle through the rest of the two large carry-bags of medical kit _._

Your eyes flick to Miss Venable distrustingly; but then have to remind yourself, who cares what the Co-operative planned or not. _You_ weren’t on any starting manifest, but they had let you jump in the van and take someones place so who were you to complain? _You were alive._

You’d take whatever rules she designed if it meant pleasing her. “Ah, here we go.” You finally find something of use, a steel lock box with foam insert, and a series of drug vials safely laying in the foam in cut out holes. You pinch one up between your fingers to read the name, then the next, quickly recognising what you were seeing. “I can give you an injection, theres a few options here but they’re all short acting, acute injury type stuff.” You find the other bits you need, syringes and needles and sterile wipes, dropping it all into a pile as you scoot the bags off the table and sit back down. “These wont last long for chronic pain.”

“Meaning?”

You hold up the vial to emphasis your point. “Meaning, I can give you a shot of opiate now, it’ll kick in quickly and last around 4-6 hours. But thats it. I’d have to come back this evening to give you another shot to last overnight.” You place it carefully on the table, the glass making a clinking sound as you set it down. “Its great stuff, but within 2 weeks this lot would be gone.”

Venable rubs her fingers across her forehead, fidgeting and fed up of feeling like this. “Just give me the shot.”

Like you would ever refuse. “Of course, Miss Venable.” You hands fall into old muscle memory as you snap open packets and draw up the colourless liquid. “And I’d recommend repeating the dose later tonight, try and get your pain to level out, and then I can taper it so to wean you off everything in general.” She doesn’t look like she’s listening, instead her fingers fiddle idly with her black dangly earring and stares away from you with such grit and resilience you feel a new found respect for her, not based just in her authority. You give her a moment, waiting until she was ready. “I need to, get to your arm,” You murmur tentatively, knowing this will mean unzipping her dress again for there was no way those sleeves would roll right up.

At this she looks back at you, the defeated humiliation in her eyes enough to just nod at you, not saying a word. You move round her and unzip the back of her dress again, further this time so you can ease it off her shoulder just a few inches. Her fingers curl around the edge of her dress keeping it up high on her chest like a child with a comforter, keeping herself covered not just for dignities sake, but because she was scared.

You ignore the desire to wrap your arms around her and hug it better, cos God she's not the sort of woman and you’re not in that kind of place, but the thought there is there nonetheless. You uncap the needle and pinch the soft muscle at the top of her arm, quickly and professionally sticking it in delivering the medicine. “Sharp sting. There.” She barely gives you a second to pull the needle out and she's clenching her fists desperate to close her dress up again. “This stuff is a faster acting hit of what was in these tablets.” You patter just to fill the silence, not knowing what else to do to alleviate how she's feeling.“So either way I’ve gotta get you off them, if theres none more anywhere.” 

“Theres not,” She snaps bitterly, and you kick yourself. Of course theres not, she would hardly have called you if there was another pot somewhere. Miss Venable takes a sharp breath, feeling the hit of morphine and sighing with instant relief.This time, she zips herself up feeling much more able to stretch around for herself, pulling her shoulders back, sitting tall.

You busy yourself tidying away the bits and pieces into the kit bag again. “Then you need to start thinking about other measures you can put in place to manage the pain. Natural methods.” Venables shoots you a contrived look. “I mean it,” You emphasise. She’s not dismissing you, so you sit, feeling safe to finally relax a touch. “I don't think any of us want to see you on active withdrawal. They’re petrified of you as it is.” The corner of your mouth dares a small smile, hoping the compliment will be appreciated.

Miss Venable fails to contain a smirk. “Good.”

You watch as she leans on her cane and fluidly stands, drawing tall. The freedom of moving without the ever-present pain felt _exhilarating_. She walks away from you across the room to her desk, balancing with her cane in one hand, leaning a little to reach the middle drawer, pulling it open to retrieve two glasses. “You could - “ You start, unsure of yourself now the medical stuff was over. That was where you felt comfortable and knew what to say. Now it was just, you and Wilhemina Venable and you’d never experience of such things. “You could try being a little nicer.” She tucks a bottle of something under her arm and uses her hip to edge the drawer closed again, turning to walk back to you. “They don’t like me either, if it makes you feel better. So I understand the desire to push everyone away but you’re…rather forthright. _”_ You struggle to find the right word. _Direct. Mean. Scary as hell._

She sets the glasses down, then the bottle and sits opposite you, gesturing with her hand for you to start. Theres a playful light in her eyes, and you feel your cheeks redden at the sight of it. What was going on? You give her a shot of the good stuff and now she’s, sharing a drink with you? You hadn’t tasted anything but water and cubes for a year and yet, she's revealing to you that she had somehow planned ahead. You’re glad for once that the room was quite dark and she wouldn't see your nervousness, as your unscrew the bottle and pour a little into both glasses. “Just say it. They think I’m a stone cold bitch.” She huffs, pleased with her reputation. Venables snatches the glass from the table and sits back, letting her shoulders relax and even letting go of her cane. It stays leant at her side, against her thigh, and you wonder what that would feel like.

You sip the liquid, the long forgotten taste of alcohol sparking your senses awake like fireworks. _Wow,_ you’d forgotten how good stuff could taste. You breathe hotly feeling the whisky burn your throat in the most wonderful way. “I don’t think that.” You reply, neither confirming or denying what she said, thinking both answers could probably insult her somehow and you don't want to burst this bubble.

“Then you would be _dead wrong._ ” Her voice almost purrs in delight.

 _Fuck_. You clench your core with a tingling breath. You stare at her, willing her to see how she makes you feel. How you’ve been so alone and now you’re here, with _her_ , and its the first time you’ve felt anything in so long. The Co-operatives rules had kept your imagination and skilled fingers as the only thing to comfort you, even if there were anyone that would speak to you long enough to fulfil such needs. _No-one came close to her._ “You’re a beautiful person,” You murmur before you know what you’re saying. The emotion spills from your lips and you force yourself to look away from her before the heat in your belly combusts. “But all they see is you hating them.” You can’t admit how it pains you hearing their snide jeers and cruel comments. You want everyone to appreciate her and see her the way you do. You gulp a mouthful of whisky into to give you the courage to carry on. “I know it hurts - “

“You don't know, _anything._ Only what you’ve read in books and on beeping monitors,” Her tone is full of scorn, verbally striking you for your slip.

You retreat, cradling the glass between your hands dropping your head a little. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” You apologise, accepting her correction. You shrink back, feeling a shakiness in your hands that gives too much away. _How could you be so stupid?_ Acting overly familiar, like you can talk to her as a friend. You were ruining it again. Venables was right; she should be back-handing you for such an overstep, but your desperation to make a connection with her was preventing it. You try and move hastily away from your all-too honest confession and instead steer the conversation back to the stuff you were good at. “But you’re going to have find a way to cope without the meds, without taking it out on everyone else.”

“Why?” She laughs, emboldened by the drink. “When its _such fun.”_ Venables sucks her lower lip and lets it roll out wet from her mouth, it catches the flickering firelight, making it shine. She can see your nerves, and it boosts her self-confidence in just the right way. That even after confronting you with the worst part of herself, you still fear her.

Her words chill you and you want to doubt her actions - had Stu really snuck outside and risked the group? Had the lashes on Mr Gallants back really been self-inflicted? But, theres a deep part of you that guiltily knows the shiver you felt wasn’t just that. Your toes curl in your shoes. Miss Venable watches you closely, your breathing slowing, deepening, you teeth digging into your lower lip so hard you can almost taste blood. Perhaps the stinging redness to Coco’s cheek hadn’t been purely corrective. _You hope it wasn’t._

“Well, maybe it … _does_ help,” Your voice quivers. Perhaps you can … continue to help her with her pain? You squeeze your eyes shut momentarily. _Don't be ridiculous._ You take a breath, and finish off your whisky, putting the glass back on the table. “But who knows how long we’re going be down here, so either way.” You try and move on, feeling hot under the collar.

Miss Venable mirrored you, knocking back the last of her drink in an elegant fluid movement. “Another 6 months, at the outside.” She reveals. “And then we move.”

You blink at the news. “Oh, I didn't know … ” Since when were you all going to move? To where? Another Outpost? The timeline clicks over in your head. 18 months of cubes, she had said at the start. And a few days ago she’d sent you all to bed to reflect on the _year_ spent surviving together in Outpost 3. 6 months more was all that was left? Did the Co-operative plan for it all to be done by then? It didn't take the smartest minds on the planet to know Nuclear Winter lasted longer than that.

“Theres a lot you don't know,” She huffs. Miss Venables stands with ease, and you feel a little self satisfied that you had done that. You’d fixed her problem and she’d shown you her gratitude by sharing her time with you, the best payment you could have dared dream of. “Your job, is to keep me going until then.” Her cane moves first, then steps, her fingers dragging along the arm of your chair and she stops beside you. “Do that and you might actually have earned your place here.” You feel her hand slide gently onto your shoulder and you swear you nearly faint. “Can you do that?”

You lift your gaze up, the formidable woman looking down at you with a haughty, meaningful expression. “Yes.” You whisper, for her proximity and touch have left you indescribably weak. Her fingers clench, and she digs her nails deeply into your shoulder. “Yes, _Miss Venable._ ” You correct yourself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the conversation feels a little repeated, I'm not sure if its just me because I've read over it so many times, or if it *does* feels repetitive, but I wanted certain elements to be talked about again as though the reader is referencing their earlier conversation. But the fun is coming, promise ;)

Dinner was its usual amble of chit-chat and cubes all round. Only a few dared to send careful glances towards Venable, unsure what to make of their illustrious leader. Earlier in the day she had stumbled, panted in rage at them and yet now it seemed as though it had all been some imagined folly.

You still felt her hand on your shoulder, the imprint had burned itself onto your skin. Nothing could distract your mind from that feeling, not even your previous companion. You kept your book in your lap like normal, though the print blurred in front of your eyes. You bite the inside of your cheeks to hold in your smile, your eyes flicking to her from your pretended reading. Seeing how she sliced through her cube with such exuberance, and _you,_ the sole person in the room that knew where her new found spring came from? It made you feel … _special._

It wasn’t happiness as such, that she was showing, for Miss Venables was not one that was capable of such loose emotions. It was more the wild freedom granted to one previously contained. You wonder what you have set free, her fist gripping the head of her cane and grinding it into the ground with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

That gleam is sent in your direction, and you grip your book more tightly than ever. It starts as just a missing beat to your heart, a shallowness befalling your breaths. She sees it, and you drink your mineral water to quiet the heat inside you.

Greys collected the plates and waited to the sides of the room, the silent and obedient workers she had drilled them to be. It seemed almost as if Wilhemina’s perfectly crafted universe had fallen into place, except for the ache that was forming in her knee. _The meds were wearing off._ Her free hand - for she only ever had one that was not on her cane, replaced her glass to the table and smoothed down her thigh to the kneecap, rubbing it with a subtle pressure.

The table of Guests were getting bored, and she was disinterested in torturing them. “You may go,” Miss Venable announced to them, clacking her cane on the floor like a judges gavel, passing judgement on the quality of their company. For all the people humanity had to offer, this was it? She shook her head. The best the Co-operative could come up with were some lust-ridden teenagers, and rich bitches who had little to offer the new world besides providing the means to build and enact the plan in the first place.

They would be the first to go. The young ones could stay, they would be needed. The Greys of course. Her head tilted as her gaze settled on you, as ever the last to stand from the table. You were neither entitled rich girl, nor obedient worker, but somewhere in between.

You had potential.

You waited an extra beat, tucking your chair under so slowly it scraped the floor. But Miss Venable didn’t say a word, simply waiting for you to leave with the others, and your disappointment is already troubling you. The woman had only touched your shoulder, _and shared a drink with you,_ your subconscious teases, there was no reason to throw your whole reason for existence at her feet.

You feel like if this had been the real world, you would be checking your phone every two minutes like a nervous tic, hanging on for a text from her. That you would play over every sentence and intonation in her voice to glean something more from it, to just keep thinking about her. You hadn’t had many dates since your last relationship, and as such had become something of a dating recluse. Along with everything else it was easier to say nothing, read and work double shifts and order take-out for one. There was no disappointment in that.

So really, you knew that such a gesture was just a kind polite thing that humans did to one another during social interactions. They patted each other on the back, or would shake hands, or lean a thankful hand to a shoulder. Behaviours had patterns just like everything else about the body.

But that was then, before bombs and Outposts and cubes, and before your whole life had disappeared into dust. Miss Venables was nothing like anyone you had met before, behaved differently and fitted no pattern. She didn't make sense and although it put you on edge, in an unsettling sort of way - because hell, you had spent 12 months working out these people, you kind of liked it.

She made you feel giddy, untethered.

You sit on the side of your bed, having changed from your dinner dress to a simpler deep purple one, with three quarter sleeves and a deep cut over your chest. You had stared at your armoire in despair for none of it was what you would have chosen to wear, but she had seen them all a hundred times so what difference did it make? You’d never worn a dress in your life until this place, but then a nagging thought remains in the back of your mind. Since Miss Venables had dismissed your comment about radiation meds so easily, knowing full well what you were thinking, you know there must be more to her matriarchy than simply keeping the door closed. She had probably designed the attire along with the rules; and for the first time you look down at your dress, wondering what it was about the style or colour that held such fondness for her.

Was purple her favourite colour? The idea makes you chuckle. You plait your long hair simply around your shoulder, and wait. There was no clock in the room, so you’re not sure how long after dinner it was, but eventually the knock came. You feel an instant rush of nervous anticipation rise as you hop off your bed onto your feet. Pulling open the door, you stare at Miss Mead and try not to smile.

She bunches her lips unhappily, staring at you. “Its time,” She barks, turning and heading off down the hall barely waiting for you.

“Good evening to you too,” You mutter under your breath. There was no doubting it this time round. She was definitely pissed at you.

You follow the woman in silence, glancing around the hallways and central circular fire, everything dimmer than usual, which was to say it was pretty dark. You can’t hear voices from the music room, or the pacing about of Greys. _What the hell time was it?_

“What did you do together? Before, for her to summon you again, like this is some royal court and I’m just a messenger.” Ms Mead turns abruptly, and you almost walk in to her. You glance down the hall and realise you’re on the corner of the corridor where Venables room is. She was stopping short of taking you there.

You clasp your hands in front of you. “My job,” You say simply. “Like you do yours.” Mead continues to glower at you, and then it clicks. _She's jealous_. You cant quite believe it, but seeing the way she stomped off down the rest of the corridor its blatantly obvious and you want to laugh.

“Yeah well. Don’t get used to it. You’re not special,” Mead harrumphs and knocks her bosses door only because she has to - not because she wants to let you in there. She's suspicious of you and downright distrusting, she's only ever been the one to see Miss Venables alone, and not even in her own bedroom. They always met elsewhere for their evening conversations, there was plenty of empty bedrooms to choose from and armoires full of clothing just waiting to be worn. It was dangerous and exciting and she was the only one who knew _Wilhemina_ like that. Not that she could ever call her that to her face of course.

You both hear Venables voice bidding you in, and Mead opens the door for you, then slamming it unceremoniously shut behind you though you’re barely through the doorway. You’re greeted by an empty room, the cargo bags of medical kit to your right besides the door like before, the sparse furniture exactly the same. “Evening, Miss Venable,” You call through the room, hoping your voice carries to wherever she is. You wander forwards and notice on the round coffee table, a set of things left out for you - needle, syringe, the same small glass vial. You pick them up and start opening the plastic packets, drawing up the requisite millilitres of drug as you had done before, assuming she would want you to get on with it.

“Good, you’re here,” Miss Venable finally answers, her voice coming from the bathroom. You re-sheath the needle and slide it all back into its packets leaving them on the table. She appears in the doorway almost silently, her cane sounding but no footsteps with it. “I had to resist the temptation to do it myself.”

Your eyes widen, and its too late to bother hiding the fact you’re staring. Her hair is held taught in a long red ponytail, still scraped back with a neatness only catwalk models would afford, but the length of it surprises you. She has curved glasses on and a dark striped dress, two shades of purple naturally - you _know_ its purple but its such a deep shade it appears almost black. _And since when did she need glasses?_ Its full bodied but elegantly cut with pointed shoulders, loose arms that are cuffed at the wrist, cinched tight at her waist like a bodice with buttons that flare down from the waist.

Its still softly feminine despite its dark colour, matched with her deep lipstick and bright hair, she's perfectly styled. It suits her, though on anyone else it would be unbecoming. Your gaze trails down her, understanding then why she came so quietly - she was barefoot. This glimpse of bare skin, though it was barely to her ankle - it felt _salacious._ With the standards Miss Venable had set, _absolutely no copulation under any circumstances_ , seeing even a flash of skin was teasing and terribly alluring. 

She waited with a wicked smirk until you remembered yourself, the sight of her possessing you. Wilhemina Venable enjoyed the way your mind raced seeing her, just as much as she enjoyed being looked at. You cleared your throat finally, sitting down and gesturing to the chair opposite so you could take the same places you had had last time. “Did the Co-operative give you basic medical training?” You ask, somewhat stumbling over your sentence and remembering you were trying to have a conversation.

“No,” Miss Venable answered, her voice light and amused. She steps delicately across the room to sit opposite you, tucking her arm around her cane, lazily keeping it close.

“How was the …the- the dosage earlier?” You swallow and stutter. When you manage to drag your eyes up to meet hers, she’s staring square at you, adjusting her glasses completely in control.

A breezy smile washes over her lips. “Oh, _marvellous_.” A teasing widening of her eye tells you she enjoyed the hit a little more than she should have.

“Any side effects?”

“Not a _thing._ ” Her voice purrs, and her fingers rap on the arm of the chair, waiting for you to run through whatever silly questions you had.

You busy your hands with the syringe and packets, even though you’ve done all that already. You’re only as useful as your medical skills so you want to keep the interaction - the need to have you here going as long as possible. Anything you’re getting out of it is purely circumstantial, but you enjoy the rush, the subtle throb awakening between your legs. Her tongue rests on her lower lip and you wonder if she's purposely teasing you. No, you tell yourself. This was Miss Venable. You’re simply attributing meaning to movements that held none. You _want_ it to be something, you see it. _“_ Truthfully? Because I can’t effectively taper your dose if - “

“A little dizziness,” She reluctantly acknowledged, giving you a look like you’re spoiling her fun.

You squirt a little of the medication out to reduce the dose by a millilitre, satisfied you weren’t giving too much. Last time had been a bit of a guess. “Okay. I need to, get to your arm again.” You shift forward on your seat and clear your throat, wondering how she wanted to do this.

She dextrously undoes the buttons at her waist with one hand, then shifts upright in her position from where she had been rested back. “Do this for me.” She shrugs her shoulder nearest you, indicating she wants it off.

Your heart starts to beat, your fingertips brushing her skin as you help pull her robe off one shoulder - and its nightdress underneath. “O-Of course.” She drags her long red hair around the opposite shoulder and leans her head almost giving you her neck, under the guise of making it easier to get to her upper arm. _She's definitely playing you_ , your subconscious huffs. “Have you thought about what I said? If there was any natural pain control methods you want to try?” You carry on, ignoring whatever it was she was doing, pulling the needle cap and jabbing it in her arm quickly and quietly.

Venables features twitch a little at the sting of the needle, then nothing. “Caning people doesn’t count?”

 _Don't say that,_ you breathe, not saying it out loud. Earlier she had suggested how she enjoyed it, taking out her pain on everyone in the Outpost. _You try not to imagine yourself on your knees, taking her cane across your back_. The thought alone was tantalising, especially with the intimate sights you were experiencing. The lace detailing on her nightdress, the bare pale skin of her neck underneath. “Pain transference only works if you do it on yourself, not other people,” You murmur, helping return the robe up over her shoulder so she could do the buttons up.

“Hmm.” Wilhemina refused to agree or deny your theory, thinking you’re purposely hedging her comment, which you are. Instead she slides off her glasses, folding them and setting them on the table in front her. She presses on her cane and stands, unafraid to look you dead in the eye as she says it. “It does give you a _rush_ though.” She's being a hell of a lot more overt this time, making her _particular_ interests known to you. Her eyes graze down your face to your lips, then return. Her shoulder turns and she stretches a little as she walks away.

You watch as she turns her back to you, and the tug of disappointment starts to swell inside you again, as you murmur. “I wouldn’t know.” 

Miss Venable disappears into her bedroom, and your adrenaline levels start to fall. You rub the heel of your hand up over your forehead, cos you know you need to bloody well get it together. You were going to be responsible for doing this over the next few weeks and you couldn’t be a trembling heap of unresolved sexual tension every time she unbuttoned her dress. You roll your eyes at yourself, tidying away the bits and pieces into the kit medical kit.

Zipping up the cargo bag you stand, putting your hands on your hips. You don't want to leave, but you can’t just hang by the door for no reason, especially when Ms Mead is likely on the other side of the door like a guard dog ready to bite your ankles for overstaying your welcome. “I’ll see myself out,” You call through the room, leaning this way and that trying to see if there was sight of her, or if your words sparked a reaction at all. You quiet your breathing and listen, hoping, _praying_ she might ask you to stay again.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear her. “You leave when I dismiss you,” Miss Venables replies, her voice coming from the other room but just as terse and stern as ever.

“Right,” You say, clearing your throat and hurrying back to the chair to sit down, excitement pounding in your chest. “Apologies. Miss Venable.” Any notion of you leaving vanishes, and you clasp your hands in your lap waiting.

But now what? You’ve been given a command and you gladly do it, taking the opportunity to survey the room in the mean time. You’ve got to keep your mind busy because otherwise you’ll talk yourself into an anxious mess.

You hear her cane, fore-warning you to her return and your eyes snap immediately in the direction of the sound. For a second you’re unsure if you heard her correctly; she _had_ told you to stay, hadn't she? You have a momentary crisis of confidence.

But as the figure of Wilhemina Venable comes into view in the doorway such fears leave you, and you smile. Its silly of you, but you cant help it.

Miss Venable walks toward you with slow sensual steps, cane then foot, cane then foot. She stops, and tilts her head down at you. You feel like all the air is being pressed from the room, like a black hole consumes everything around her, and the world falls away before your eyes. You see only her.

Appearing to regard you quietly, her fingers play on the top of her cane, thinking a while. The silence is maddening and you gaze up at her willing her to say something. “Miss Venable?”

Wilhemina takes a short breath, and a big risk. “Did you mean it?” She asks, the eloquence to her voice a perfect and steady melody. She had the poise and control of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, unburdened by the softness of her emotions.

“Mean, what?” Your voice shakes.

“That you think I’m beautiful.”

You answer only with a desperate nod, summoning the courage from somewhere to tell her how you feel. “Wholeheartedly.”

Wilhemina feels a breath of relief fill her lungs, shortly followed by the prickle of anticipation. It had been a long time since she had had a _willing_ companion. A year was a long time when you couldn’t play with certain sides of yourself, that were otherwise prone to burst out of you in unintentionally severe reprimands.

She held out her hand to you. “Come with me.”

You wonder what has taken possession of her, to proffer her hand to you like this. It feels, _strange_ unlike anything you’ve felt - even with past lovers this is like static, electric, power crackling from her finger tips that jumps into your as you reach your hand into hers. Aside from the faint brush of your fingers on her shoulder, this is the first time you’ve ever touched, and its everything you want it to be.

Her skin is cool, but soft, and she grips your hand with firm intention as she bids you to stand and follow her. You do, saying nothing - you’re glad she’s not questioning you further because you doubt your ability to coherently answer. 

Miss Venable leads you through the doorway to the right, what you can now confirm is her bedroom. Here your eye catches glimpses of the real _Wilhemina_ , kept even from her own living space. A leather bound book on her night stand - a diary, you guess, from the pen sitting atop it. A spare set of glasses and yesterdays earrings lay next to it, you know she has a few different pairs because you’ve spent the last goddamn year gazing at her unnoticed from afar.

Theres a large, deep wardrobe, _armoire,_ you correct yourself, thats the word she uses. Language gives things power, and using such words gave her an air of refinement, status, it put you in a headspace that tricked you into thinking this really was some victorian era Dystopia. _Maybe it is._

A dresser next to it displays an oval shaped mirror, the black iron stand acting as a hook for a few necklaces. Here she has a wooden jewellery box, one of her brooches perched on top - a pretty mix of amethyst, diamond and obsidian. 

You wonder not for the first time if the other Outposts are similarly decked out, or whether her own tastes had a part to play in how you have all been living. It would be a shock for poor Coco, if after the move in 6 months time, she's confronted with stylish jeans and fashionable hair-dos again.

Miss Venable pulls you to a halt, then turns and faces you, her hands settling together on top of her cane. “You talk of natural methods, a way to, release then tension.” Her eyes never falter from you, conducting herself with utter poise.

You’re not quite capable of that, because _God_ you’re in her bedroom standing at the end of her _sumptuously larger than yours -_ double bed; and you cant help but turn your head and look at the lilac chiffon bedspread and wonder if its as silky to the touch as it looks. “Yes.” You reply, tucking your hands together at your waist so you don't fidget. You’re a grown woman for Gods sakes.

Her jaw angles subtly. You know she's restraining herself from correcting your lapse in attention, and it sends a tingle up your spine. “Are you willing to follow this to its conclusion?”

“I - “ You start to answer, then stop yourself. What the hell were you about to agree to? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was never going to get done in 4 chapters! So I've increased it to 6 and we'll see if I wrap it up nicely in that. 
> 
> Hope you stick around for the ride!


	5. Chapter 5

_Follow, what to its conclusion?_ You want to ask. She’s _so far_ from clear she's practically opaque, and you have no idea what is really going on. You’re in her bedroom, and there’s a bed, and … did she want you to - was she proposing having sex? But the rules were plain and simple when you arrived and the whole Outpost has been adhering to them with petrified rigidity. Timothy and Emily had confirmed to you all what had happened to those two Greys. Everyone had kept their hands to themselves after that. 

Miss Venables tilts her head with a tightening of her lips. “You’re hesitant.”

You puff a short breath and shake your hands to relieve the tension a bit, like a kid going on stage for the first time, you have no idea what to really expect here. Your nervous energy contrasts to her absolute stillness, never wavering. You clear your throat and force yourself to calm down because you don't want to blow this. Whatever _this,_ is. “I want to make sure I’m… reading this right.” You begin, flicking your eyes to her bed then back to her. “I don't want to be sent to the surface and be shot in the back of the head because I broke the rules.” You swear you see the corner of her mouth upturn into a small smirk. “I want to help you though of course - I mean …,” You elucidate, just to make clear she knows you’re totally on this train wherever its headed.

She sucks her lower lip it into her mouth as she listens to your pre-amble. Such a small thing, and yet it silences you. You both know damn well what it is she's proposing.

“That rule is in place to prevent situations that often befall women after heterosexual copulation. I doubt we are in danger of that,” Miss Venable drawled in annoyance.

You huff lightly. “Thats, true.” You take a daring half step closer to her. You’re close to believing this could actually happen, Miss Venable… _wants you_? Or at least, is suggesting sex. She’s not pushing you away, but reading Wilhemina Venables intentions was a virtually impossible task. You reach for her hand again, slipping your fingers into hers gently tugging it from her cane, wanting to whimsically lace your fingers together - you expect a backhanded slap before you see her accepting the gesture. “So, this is allowed?” You test the waters gently.

Venables eyes fall to where you’ve taken her hand, tickled as to what you think this is. “More than that. Its _encouraged_.” Her hand squeezes yours and you feel a swell of confidence that she's mirroring your feelings back, but her fingers squeeze a little too hard, then her nails are digging in. Its only for a moment, but enough that a cunning smile crosses her lips and reflexively forces your grip on her hand to fade, until _she_ is holding _yours_ , limp now in her overpowering hold.

You let her have her dominance over the hand hold, reluctant to fight her for it. Instead you take the chance - seeing as you’re connected right now, to ease yourself against her. “So, I can kiss you?” You flirt, adventurously nudging your nose into her cheek brushing your lips along her jaw toward her lips. Your other hand finds her hip, and you’re lips are there, at hers, you can taste her lipstick -

You feel a flat hand against your chest, pressing you back. “There are however, rules.”

The descent from such a high is plummeting, your eyes searching hers with confusion. You were literally about to kiss - you _were_ kissing, did that count? _Fuck._ You take a firmer hold of her hand again only to find she jerks you away. You put your hands up on your hips, utterly puzzled. What the hell was she doing? “Rules.” You state, needing to confirm you heard her correctly.

Without bothering to acknowledge you spoke at all, she continues. “One - you will continue to refer to me, only as Miss Venable.” You take all this in slowly. Rule one was easy enough. “Two - you will do exactly as I tell you, without, hesitation. Anything you are uncomfortable with, you will use the safe word _Purple_. I will stop and you will be allowed to leave. However, there will be no second chances. Choose to leave and I will not call for you again.” Miss Venable waits a beat for her words to sink in, delighting in seeing the realisation dawn on your face. Follow orders. Obey without hesitation. What if you don't like what she wants to do? She's dropped hint after hint about … punishment being enjoyable and you know in some secret locked away place you've always wondered what it would be like, what such intensity could be to experience, but you’d never thought you’d actually go through with it. If thats what she was even saying? Your mind swirled in a mass of questions and you pinch the bridge of your nose. She’s done this before, _clearly,_ she has a safe word and a protocol she likes to follow … but then if you say anything she’ll drop you and not call for you again. So, in reality there _was no safe word._ You would have to willingly accept whatever she wanted. “Three - speak of this to anyone and I will personally, end your life. And I will make sure I enjoy myself doing it.” Miss Venables has never sounded so vicious, and yet you’re already throbbing, and its fucking _humiliating_ because somehow, _you know she knows._ “Am I clear?”

Your palms are sweating. You’re in very real danger here - speak out and you’re dead. Blindly agree to her whims and desires. What if she hurts you? _What if you want her to._ “Very. Absolutely. Crystal clear Miss Venable,” You swiftly reply. You’ve never felt danger before, but the adrenaline high its giving you is addictive - and she's not even done anything yet but stare you into submission. Your breath rolls hotly out your lips as you wait, your whole body racked with tension, will she accept your answer?

Wilhemina Venable squeezes the head of her cane in delight. “Undo my dress and hang it in the armoire,” She instructs, moving her cane to the side of her, lowering her guard. You step forward with a mute nod, reaching with faltering fingers to the buttons on her chest. You start undoing them one by one, pushing the small round buttons through the loops of material, working your way down the bodice to her waist. “Leave yours on the floor.” Your fingers still, you peer up at her. You suspected you would be getting naked at some point, but you’d never been ordered to before. Miss Venable raises her eyebrows emphatically, scoldingly so. You nod, finish her buttons quickly and ease back as she shifts her shoulders out of her dress. It must have been some victorian version of a dressing gown you realise, to have her nightdress on and it be buttons not the usual zip and bodice.

_She was ready to take you to bed before you even came in._

You move around helping her out of it, bending down to shift the dress past her hips, thighs, knees, and before you know it you’re on your knees. Slowly grazing your eyes up her, you take in the sight of the real Wilhemina Venable. Her silk nightdress falls to the knee, delicately stitched with lace detailing, femininely cut around the hips - she’s got an incredible figure.

As she steps out of it, she leans on her cane and not you. Wilhemina is careful not to let you have that yet, you don't earn her touch for simply undressing her. Touch is a commodity unlike any other, the only one of the five senses that can be used for pleasure or pain. A soft caress, a pinch, a tender kiss, a tickle. All from the same sense of touch, all totally different sensations.

You ruffle the dress out as you stand making sure there are no folds or crinkles. She's captivatingly beautiful, your breathing shallowing and your attraction mounting with each moment. The dark red hair laying over her shoulder, still taught in its pony, her pale skin enveloped delicately in creme-white silk nightdress… without realising it your eyes drift to her chest and how the material peaks over her breasts.

Wilhemina clacks her cane. You jump, eyes snapping up. Your cheeks redden shamefully. _You were being totally obvious_ you berate yourself, rushing to the armoire opening it and finding a spare hanger to slip into the dress. You couldn’t help it.

You close the armoire remembering her second instruction. You reach under your arm and unzip your own dress, pushing it carelessly down and stepping out of it, knowing her eyes are on you without needing to look. You can feel them.

For the first time you’re thankful for this goddamn under-corset and cotton shorts combination you got given instead of regular 21st century underwear, for your wetness would surely be dampening your panties by now. But with these she wouldn't be able to see. You press your thighs together, turning slowly.

You gasp. Miss Venable is sitting on the edge of her bed, cane laying atop the bedspread to her side, her fingers gripping the material of her nightdress, bunching it slowly at her hip. Her legs are bare and her knees are bare.

You stare. She drags her nightdress languidly up her thighs to her hips, tilting her head. “Now, say it again.”

You mouth is dry. Miss Venable is making a fucking statement thats for sure, parting her thighs, barely a whisper of nightdress over her modesty. You pad over to her, like an invisible rope tied to you, releasing you of your free will. You fall your knees between hers. “You’re beautiful,” You tell her, touching your hands to her bare thighs and you hear how she gasps, the human touch as long lost to her as it is to you. Tenderly, your hands trace up to her hips, back again, smoothing your hands over her skin, getting her used to your touch.

“Again,” She pants.

You kneel up, showing her your desire in a deliberately clear fashion. She was the sort of woman who wanted it so. Her eyes flick to your lips, her own parting slightly, then nods in permission, bringing her intense dark eyes back to meet yours. You hold your resolve, and press your lips to hers, kissing her. She's still at first, as if she doesn’t know what to do with such a gesture. You softly guide her lips to move with yours until you feel hers relaxing, and kissing you back, a soft moan breathing from her lips. “You’re so beautiful Miss Venable - “ You mutter between kisses, pressing to your feet encouraging her to shimmy back up the bed. She claws herself backwards using fistfuls of bedspread and she’s under you, you're kissing her and its _divine._

But then she turns her head, cutting you off and controlling herself. Her hands don’t move from the bed until now, one returning to the edge of her nightdress ensuring it cant ruck up any higher.She’s never let her hand wander and touch you, and you look down between your bodies to see as such. You nod in understanding, she only turns her head back once you’ve moved away, watching you shifting down the bed and between her legs. _Is this what she wants?_ You press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh and her leg tenses, then relaxes next to you.

Wilhemina stares up at the ceiling, her body begging for more. She didn’t know how much she had missed this either, and she doesn’t know if you’ll last until the end of what she wants to do - this isn’t about _you_ after all. “Don’t be gentle.” You hear her growl softly, and you lift slightly from between her legs to catch her eye, acknowledging her demand.

You’re thankful you know what the fuck you’re doing, cos she's not exactly giving you instructions. You doubt any of the other women in this Outpost had such a sexual history, and it makes you grin, something you saw as only making you different, is actually the one thing that makes you _perfect._

You lower your mouth to her, dipping under her nightdress and lapping your tongue softly over her clit. You wait, your will threatening to fold. _You can do this._ You take a breath. It takes a few goes to get your confidence up, _that this is actually happening_ , then you find your stride and remember what to do and you lick her firmer, parting her folds with your fingers to tease the little nub into life.

You feel her thighs tensing around you now and then, see her stomach clench as her arousal grows, and you hum and laugh, all pleased with yourself. You’d barely dreamt of this ever happening, and yet its real, you’re between Miss Venables legs and pleasuring her and you know she has already taken possession of you. Her breathing is shaky and slow, groaning as you suck her clit into your mouth and drag your teeth over it on the way out.

Her hand snaps from her nightdress to the back of your head, taking a fistful of your hair at that. “Good girl…,” Wilhemina pants, tugging your hair painfully pulling you tighter into her. You grin, _she liked that_. You suck her clit into your mouth again and her moaning sways and swings from her lips in an untold melody that encourages you on. Leaning your weight to one side allowing you to bring your fingers to her, you tease her with them. You circle her wetness with one finger, testing her pushing in and out just an inch. It gives you strength of your convictions, knowing for certain she wants this because _damn she's wet for you._ Your happiness is written all over you, your energy bursting from you, hooking your arm under her thigh and pulling her leg up over her shoulder as your thrust your two fingers into her.

“Fuck!” She barks, then you swear you hear her laugh, as you pump your fingers in and out of her still lapping at her clit unrelenting. She didn’t want gentle, so you’re delivering whether she fully expected it from you or not.

The combination of the internal pressure and her nerves sending blinding white pleasure around her body, her hips twist, knees bending as she growls. She's near, she’s teetering on the edge of orgasm but she has to let go. Its not something Wilhemina Venable is used to, and every fibre of her is fighting against it, her own pleasure tormenting her. The vigorous licking and rubbing on her clit you’re giving, its so intense it almost feels cold, then wet, all the sensations mixing and confusing themselves until she can barely feel a thing, and her eyes fall shut. She has to let go of her control, just for a second, she has to. She gasps a wet breath as tears threaten in her eyes, the pounding of your fingers driving her toward the inevitable. Wilhemina Venable _can’t not_ be in control. “It won’t - “ She shakes.

“It will - “ You tell her, pumping your fingers and curling them inside her, adding a third finger and filling her completely. You can feel her muscles rigidly contracting on your fingers, she needs to come, but she's not letting herself.

Her hand scrunches into a fist so hard her nails mark her palm. She grinds her teeth and groans, giving herself permission to let go, releasing her body from its wracking agony of hanging on the edge to finally tipping over, squeezing your fingers and coming hard. You pant happily against her centre, feeling the warm press of arousal wash over your fingers as you slide them out.

Miss Venables feels herself twitch, her whole body shivering with left over electrical energy, as you lay your head on her thigh closing your eyes.

Wilhemina pinches her fingers over her eyes regaining some sort of control over her senses. She blinks a few times to clear her vision, staring at the ceiling again running her eyes around the square tiles as she did every night instead of sleeping. She can feel you lying on her, the gall you have to think yourself deserving of such affection. But she can’t do anything about it for a few minutes, instead giving in to the after shocks of her orgasm.

You smile to yourself, wrapped together with her in the post-coital glow you’re mellow, content, your previous worry and anxiety gone. She’d let you in, bent the rules for you and taken you into her bed. _She was perfect._ You idly draw patterns on her skin with your finger, kissing her there, lazily enjoying these moments and the freedom of being able to touch her, be with her, without the layers of etiquette and rules, fear and tension.

It was just you, and her.

She slowly pushes up onto her elbows, shoving her nightdress down covering herself again. You glance up, and feel her fingers lace into your hair, affectionately giving you a little scratch. _Like a pet,_ you think, and though it should be offensive the way she wants to treat you, its fucking beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry i'm a day late, this was a long one. Over 5k! I didn't want to split it again. Enjoy, I hope it meets everyone's expectations!

When she sits up, you shift back and find yourself on the edge of the bed self consciously blushing, both of you being in underwear like this, or the Outpost version of underwear at least. Miss Venable snaps her fingers sending you off her bed before you could get too comfortable. Slipping to your feet you stand awkwardly, only then seeing she's pointing at her armoire, not at you. “Well go on, I’m not going to sit here in my underthings,” She snaps, shaking her head at the absurdity of it.

You might have done a good job but it didn't guarantee you such privileges as _that._ Being intimate with a person was the not the same as having sex. Wilhemina tightened her lips as you retrieved her nightdress and offered it to her, pulling her arms swiftly into it and turning away to button it up, leaning on her cane lightly.

You _had_ made her feel good; the high of a decent orgasm was difficult to replicate alone, and she was not one to indulge in such aberrant behaviours. She took a deep breath through the nose, feeling lighter, better for the shot and the _therapy,_ she had to admit that at least. Smoothing down the bodice of the dress to her hips, Miss Venables turned, having mentally put herself back together. She walked up to you with her cane comfortingly in hand.

“It was a nice nightdress,” You smile gently. You weren't sure if being relaxed around this woman was wise, but you had just had sex so, a little friendly flirting was usually allowed.

Ignoring your comment, she reaches for the end of your plait, teasing it between her fingers. “You did that rather well,” Miss Venable said with quiet surprise. Her subtle affections make your cheeks blush. “You’ve been with women before.” She deduces accurately, letting your hair go and returning both hands to her cane, drawing her shoulders back and stretching her neck tall.

“Yes, well both, but my longest relationship was with a woman yes …,” You ramble, standing in front of her in your underwear wondering if you should get your dress back on to. But she hasn’t given you any sort of instruction and you doubt Miss Venable is the sort of woman who would embrace you taking the initiative.

Her lips curl cruelly. “But not with one stronger than you.”

Your brow furrows. “I don’t underst-“

“If you had, you would already be on your knees,” Miss Venable barks, clacking her cane dramatically on the floor. As if ripping the strength from right under you, you drop to the floor, knees and shins colliding hard with the wooden floor. Your heart rate suddenly spikes to double time, and you feel the heat between your legs bursting into a throbbing wetness.. “And if you wish you speak, you should start with, _Miss Venable_ …” Her voice snarls potently.

You’re not sure if its anger flooding her mind, or just the determination for a show of strength after having come undone to your touch, but the demeanour in her had quickly shifted. You nod soundlessly, staring head bowed to the floor.

Miss Venable walks, cane then foot, cane then foot in a slow, tempting circle around you. You tense, feeling her hand lay gently atop your head. “As your reward,” She hums, resisting the urge to dig her nails in. Her outrage was beginning to climb, remembering how you forced her to let go, give over to her body _primal desires_ \- even just for a moment. It was shameful, and it was _your_ fault. 

She’d had to give up control, and that simply would not do. You, a nobody with a wandering eye eager for attention, thinking you can fix her with pain pills and a little _human contact_ just like everyone before you. But you cant fix her shame, you cant take her pain away even while _fucking_ , she still hated herself afterward and she hated you for giving her a pleasure she didn't and could never deserve, not with what she hid underneath her stiff boned dresses. She yanks your head back suddenly, and a yelp mewls from your lips. “I will allow you to choose where I cane you,” She breathes huskily in your ear.

Your arms flail at your sides as you struggle to balance, the way she cranes your neck back so severely. “Miss Venable - “ You whine, her warnings are fresh in your mind so even like this you coerce yourself to concentrate and remember your manners. “… you really want to - you meant all that stuff about caning…?” It had always been said so teasingly, whether to push your buttons or prick you with a particular fear, but it wasn’t _just_ that. She’d meant every word.

You’d dared hope, of course. The idea was tantalising. But now she's acting like she's angry at you - and why? You just - you did what she wanted … she wanted you to take her to bed she lured your over with her legs apart and panting words begging you to tell her how beautiful she was.

“Naturally,” Wilhemina smiled thinly, eyes sharp and hawk like. Her fingers slowly release your hair and drag through it to the remains of your plait, leaving it mussed and loose. “Don’t act like you didn't know. I’ve seen the way you look at me when I talk of it.”

Your eyes fall shut. All this time you thought you were the one watching her, when actually, _you_ were the one being observed - and all too closely for you to hide how her words had affected you. “Would it be - with that cane?” You blink back your guilty tears and try to think practically. Thats a thick, wooden cane, designed for bearing weight. For walking. Being hit with that could cause more than bruises and playful pink lines on someones behind like you saw on tv.

“Stop being so weak minded and accept that you want it.” Wilhemina snaps. “There’s no-one left to judge you but yourself.” 

You search for her quickly turning your head round and back until you make eye-contact to plead. “I’m not refusing, Miss Venable - “ You hurriedly say, you need to say it, you need her to know even though you’re scared and confused, just being on your knees at her feet is the _best fucking thing_ you've ever felt in your life. It was like losing a part of yourself, to gain another. To open that chest, the pandoras box of things that before the bombs would always remain silent, just yours, to ponder in a quiet moment. You’d watch a movie and get a fleeting glimpse of it, replaying the idea to yourself when you were alone at night. But this - _her_ , the end of the world came with a black wooden cane and you were shaking you wanted it so badly. “My back. Please, Miss Venable… I choose my back.” You tell her, entreating your darkness to her. “And hands.”

As she lightly turns her head to acknowledge your choice, you feel the wind knocked from your lungs, thankful that chose something that pleases her.

You’re doing this for her. You want her to feel that rush she speaks about, to have her adrenaline surge and snap from nerve to nerve around her body healing what pain she has, giving her whatever fix she needs to be the leader of this Outpost. But you’re doing it for _you_ , too.

“Very well.” Miss Venable lifts her cane and jabs the end of the bed with it, then returns it to the floor. “Head and shoulders up on the bed, your hands too,” She instructs, walking with you as you crawl to the end of the bed. You breaths sigh in something of haze, feeling almost drugged as you rest your head and shoulders on her silk-soft bedspread. The experiential high is already magnificent.

You feel her tsk and grab one wrist, putting it to the side of your head. “Here, and here.” She says abruptly, correcting your hand placement. You mistakenly lift your head to see how far apart your hands are from your head, making sure they’re equal - but she quickly shoves your head onto the bed again leaning on the back of your head keeping it down. “Learn to take instruction for _goodness sake._ ”

Your panting breaths wet the bedspread as they condense straight from your mouth onto the material. “Sorry Miss Venable - I’ve never done anything like - “

“Your excuses are pathetic. You want to be here and _help me_. So learn.” Her cane jabs you in the side of the hips, telling you to lift them, so your back is flat - all she needs now is her canvas.

Her power over you is the most addictive thing you’ve ever experienced; the way she instructs you and jabs her cane at you, accepting nothing but absolute perfection. There was nothing sexier than a woman who knew what she wanted. Your hearing clicks as you try and gauge whats happening behind you, unable to lift your head again after having already been reprimanded for that once.

Wilhemina walks slowly to her dresser, lifting the lid of her wooden jewellery box to find what she needed. The lid closes and she walks behind you, her bare ankles touching the sides of your calves as she steps her feet either side of your legs, one hand on her cane as she leans over. You feel something cool slide against your skin, tug back, then snap. A tightening of your under-corset, then another snap. Wilhemina uses a small silver blade to cut through each of the laces on your corset, slipping the blade under the cord then yanking firmly back till it cuts through it. It would be easier of course to just order you to take it off, undo it from the front, but Wilhemina knew the game, how to build your skills slowly. To teach you to wait, to be patient, to let her do to do you whatever she wanted. The control was the power, not your desire to please her. She didn't need you, she needed the rush you could give her by submitting to her desires without question.

There was nothing wrong with knowing what you liked, as long as your prey liked it too.

Freeing your back from the cream material, your corset falls to the floor beneath your body, the cool air kissing your body; your breasts bare and your waist bare - your back exposed to her in its straight lined perfection. You feel her fingers trace the line of your spine from neck to tail bone, your muscles twitching a little as her feather light touch almost tickles.

 _How thankless most of you are_ Miss Venable muses, _so undeserving of what comes naturally._

For a moment, you stop breathing. Did you do something wrong by suggesting she cane your back? Did it - insult her somehow? Showing her the straightness of your back when her own curved one brought her such pain? Your pray you haven't ruined this before it starts.

Wilhemina stands back, stepping a half a foot to the side angling herself just so. She needs to hold her balance for a moment.

Picking up her cane, she takes it in both hands and twists the head and body, slowly unscrewing the birds head of her cane. She tilted the body of the cane upside down just enough to tip out the contents - a second, thinner bamboo cane, perfectly cylindrical and perfectly weighted. Bamboo is one of the strongest woods there is, yet also one the lightest, and most versatile. She’d had the cane combination made for herself as a gift, a small congratulations upon her appointment as Administrator by the Co-operative. It was, the highest promotion she could ever achieve, and it had deserved something _special._ It was another year of course before the bombs had been scheduled, plenty of time to try it out, be satisfied that this was the cane she would have for the rest of her life.

She screws the two sections back together, the room echoing a familiar clack as she drops it to the floor, the tone a little deeper now that the hollowed out centre was empty. Wilhemina smiled in delight. The indescribable sense of wonder she felt at seeing it again fills her with warmth, and she runs her fingers along the length of the smooth thin cane like greeting an old friend.

Miss Venable plays with it in her hand, warming the handle of it in her palm, swinging it in small circles as if awakening the muscle memory in her arm of how to use it, the strength, the force, the swing needed to mark and strike her subject in various ways.

Without warning, she lifts her arm and slaps you across the back with it. The sudden sting makes you gasp, then breathe out as it quickly settles. The relief is instant, and you catch yourself smiling at the tingle it created. _It was kind of nice._ Miss Venable swings her arm and strikes you again, harder this time. You groan a little, angling your head just slightly to look around at her. It moves your back though you don't know it, and she taps the cane firmly on the side of your hip, correcting you. “Stay down. It’ll be worse for you if you move.”

You nod, straightening out and closing your eyes preparing yourself. She’d tried a few, you’d felt it and somehow it was enough that you weren't moving away, for you both to agree for more.

Miss Venable repositions her bare feet just so, tightening her grip on the smaller cane before starting. She could feel her heartbeat start to race excitedly. She struck you across the back, and puffed a invigorated breath. Again, and the crackles of energy fizz through her body. _Yes_ , she breathes, caning you again, and again, watching the lines of red and pink spring up on your skin, criss crossing them across your back, sometimes hitting you in exactly the same place to darken the line into a purple one.

You wince, each strike stinging your skin and barely dissipating before she hits you again, the crack of her whip relentless. Your eyes start to water, and your rub your eyes and nose into her bedspread sniffing to clear your passageways.

Wilhemina adjusts to what it feels like to do this again, its been so long and its _incredible._ The power, the freedom to let go herself go and _set free her true nature_ is a rare and coveted thing. No more tension no more pain, she removes anything in her mind that stops or holds her back. The delight in being able to be herself and let it out is like nothing else, and she canes you with increasing fervour, picking up the pace almost laughing as she gives in to her darkness.

The more she hits you the more it turns from tingling discomfort to actual pain, and your well placed hands scrunch the bedsheets as you grip onto it tightly. She’s not stopping, she’s not counting and any pleasure you felt from it slips away. Miss Venables is losing control if its not totally gone already and your subconscious begs you to stop it.

Just get up, move away snatch it out of her hands. _You cant, you’d never be called back and you’d never see her like this again._ But the pain is blinding, you can feel the skin on your back splitting and you bite the lilac bedspread groaning into it. She hits you and hits you and you shout against the material, screaming words but the sound is only muffled groans, and you doubt she would stop anyway - your only option your safeword.

Would she even stop if you said it? Your mind races. You’re not even sure of that anymore.

Finally, Wilhemina pauses a beat, putting her the back of her hand to her forehead catching her breath. _Fuck, that was exhilarating_ , she laughs to herself lightly surveying the mess she’s made of your back. _How poetic_ she thinks, as her lips curl into a sadistic grin.

She walks away and up the side of the bed, fetching herself the glass of water to quench her dry mouth. “You’re done.” Looking back at your unmoving form at the end of her bed she smiles to herself, finishing off the water and leaving the glass on her nightstand. You unclench your jaw from her bedsheets, your breath catching as you try to hold back your tears. Returning to the end of the bed, you still haven’t reacted or sat back at all, your inexperience frustrating her. Miss Venable digs her fingers into your shoulder and tugs you back to a sitting position. “That means off my bed.”

The movement terrorises the beheaded nerves on your back, stunned and beaten into painful submission, and you fall onto your side folding at her feet. “Sorry…I’m sorry…” You whimper, your hands shaking from having held the covers so tightly and so long, now released the realisation of what just happened washes over you, and you tremble as you wipe your eyes so you can see.

Her cane clacks. “Sit up.”

“It hurts - “ You whine.

Miss Venable sighs at you being tiresome. “It was meant to.”

As you gingerly push up on your hands to a sitting position, she unscrews the head of her cane to reinsert the thinner, whip like cane in its secret hiding place inside her main one. You cant believe she's had that this whole time, a whole year walking around with a whip inside her walking stick. Its too fantastical and yet, utterly perfect. Its so Miss Venable you want to laugh. You rub your hand under your nose, knowing you probably look like an ungrateful snivelling mess. It _had_ been nice, to start with, _sort of_ , before … before she got carried away.

She inches towards you, and instinctively you flinch away as her hand moves towards you. But her touch is gentle; she tenderly strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. _How did she know?_ You turn you face against her touch with a soft mewl, nuzzling for more. You catch yourself leaning against her legs, a sanctuary of softness in the material of her dress.

You breathe her in, but to your dismay she only gives you a few seconds, before stepping away. You almost fall forwards, the support of her legs now gone, and instead replaced by a tapping of her cane on your thigh that calls for your attention. 

“Hand up.” Miss Venable orders you, her voice calm, reticent. “I’ll only do one. I still need you to draw up my medication, after all.” It takes you a minute to remember what she's talking about, but she was right. Even after all this, she's going to continue - you’d said back and hands. _Why the fuck did you say that?_ “ At least if I break something you’ll know how to set the bones, hmm?” A girlish chuckle breaks free from her chest. _Well she sounds better._

You do as you’re told, summoning what pitiful strength you have left to reach your arm out straight, like a child at school earning the cane from their school-master. Except the smaller crop-length cane is gone. “Will this break my hand?” You ask, though the answer is of little worth, because you’ve already lost yourself to her will. At this point, you’d do it even if she said yes.

Miss Venable answers with a light shrug. “It could. But no, I’ll stop before it gets to that.” 

“Are you … “ You begin, then change your mind about asking, and swallow your words.

Her cane clacks on the floor impatiently. “If you wish to address me you start with _Miss Venable_ ,” She prompts you, unyielding from her expected ideals.

“Miss Venable,” You say again with a shaky breath. You flex your fingers, ball your fist and then stretch your hand flat again, wondering if this is the last few times you’ll be able to move it so freely. There’s an inevitability to this that makes it easier, for you’ve already said it. You asked for what you wanted, you were brave enough to set your secrets free; so who are you to judge her for doing the same? “Are you… sure you can stop?”

Her annoyance slows, finding your questions quietly adorable. Like the fluttering wings of a baby bird, you’re trying this out, following her lead and hopping up on to the side of her nest with nothing but trust keeping you safe. “I have done this once or twice,” Miss Venable says, with soft reassurance.

You don't doubt it. Your clear your throat and extend your arm again, lifting your eyes to her with placid forgiving eyes. You catch the corners of her mouth in a smile, as with one hand steadying herself on the corner of the bed, she lifts her cane and hits it over your hand with a crack.

“Nnhhhh fuck…,” You groan, only moving for a second then sitting back straight and holding your arm out again. You know she’ll tell you when she's done, and that she’d jump on any laziness in your position, were you to dangle your arm at your side instead of returning it to position. Miss Venable strikes your knuckles again, two, three, four times before having to rest and lean forwards on her cane for a moment, both hands gripping it to support her weight. Its not so easy, standing and moving like that without it to balance on.

Miss Venable leans her head to the side, cricking her neck uncomfortably. She's not done, and yet her body isn’t holding out. _One more_. She steels herself and sniffs a breath in through her nose, standing tall and as straight as she could manage, lifting her cane aloft and immediately swinging it down, caning your hand so hard it knocks you right over.

“Arhhh!” You exclaim, barely catching yourself on your other hand, the bruised one shaking as you clutch it reflexively to your bare chest. Protecting your injuries was one of the oldest human behaviours, the need to hide your weaknesses from other predators or parties that would fight you for territory or resources. _You would fight anyone for her attention._ Miss Venables was like a drug, once tasted you could not imagine being without.

Miss Venables felt awash with satisfaction. Watching you curl over, cradling your hand unaware of the state of your back. She narrowed her eyes, her fingertips twitching. “Show me.” She barks,stepping around you and flicking her fingers in a beckoning fashion. You look up, obediently reaching your arm up to her hand. It wasn’t so long ago you reached for hers, lacing your fingers together as some ill-placed romantic gesture. Miss Venables gripped your wrist in one hand, her other loosening from her cane just enough to stroke her fingers over the bruises that already swelled in colourful blooms on your skin.

Curious, what satisfaction it gave. Marking another as your own. Wilhemina sucked her bottom lip into her mouth in delight.

Letting your hand go, she gestures you to the bed. “Up on the bed, remain kneeling,” She orders, turning from you to enact her will, assuming by now you will do it without the need for her supervision. She leaves the room with an ease to her gait, cane then foot, cane then foot, walking out. Your mind whirrs, so disorientated by her behaviour you don’t know what to do with it anymore. Where was she going? Why couldn't you get dressed? You’d need to dose yourself with her damn painkillers if she had anything else planned.

So you did the only thing you could, _what you were told._ You took a deep breath, knowing moving would be painful - you just weren't prepared for quite how painful. Every shift made your skin move and the lines across your back sting anew. It felt as if she’d broken the skin, she must have, you didn't get this from a few pink lines. _It was more than a few,_ you remember; the way she let loose something wild inside of her and had beaten you to with such reckless abandon you’d screamed in agony. _Don't forget that_ , you tell yourself.

Miss Venables took what she needed from you, and she wasn’t afraid to do it. She enjoyed it.

”Carefully.” You hear Miss Venable’s voice before you see her, and you scramble through the pain up onto her bed and tucking your feet under, kneeling obediently. “If you stain my bedsheets you will be washing them yourself.”

You shiver, the familiar yet somehow comforting sound of her cane clacking on the floor as she walks back to the bed, perching on the edge and pulling herself back up onto the bed, sitting herself behind you. She arranges some things on the bed beside her, a lid opening, a plastic packet rustling. Your anticipation rises, your toes curls and the possibilities race in your mind making your breathing shallow. You try and peer over your shoulder at what she's doing, but you cant see and it stings when you try. So you drop your head, giving in to whatever it is she wants from you, waiting, ignoring the throbbing you're still feeling. You were so wet, and barely touched. 

Wilhemina uncaps the antiseptic, draws a cotton ball from the bag and tears it into smaller chunks, wetting it with the alcohol based sanitiser she knows will wound you all over again. But she needs to do it. Her eyes travel over your back, gazing at her handiwork.

She had, _perhaps_ , enjoyed herself a little too much. She had to admit that far, for it would be a while before she could do it again. Wilhemina wet the cotton ball again, and set about it. She reached her hand to your back, and started dabbing the long straight skin tear across your shoulders. Start at the top, work your way down, she told herself.

You jerked at the touch, hissing as the cool sting of antiseptic was pressed into your back. She must have broken the skin, you know now for sure. You had bathed and cleaned enough wounds in your time to know why she was doing it. You fold your arms over your chest, bracing against the slow dabs and repetitive motions as she cared for you. It was some time before either of you spoke; simply recovering together in silence was in its own way, comforting.

Wilhemina was careful, and tender in her movements. She knew how important this was; she couldn't ruin you on her first go, not when she needed you to follow through with her medication regime. Not when she wanted to do _this, with you_ again. “You showed remarkable resilience,” Miss Venable said quietly, tearing a new chunk of cotton ball from the lump in the bag and tipping the antiseptic on it. “It was, impressive.” You wince again as she bathes a fresh cut across your back. You try to relax your shoulders, let the tension go.

You wonder if in her own way, she's trying to apologise. Acknowledge the beast in the room, that she knows she went too far, that what she did was outside of any usual agreed terms. “Miss Venable..?” You murmur.

“Hmm…?” She hums softly in response, concentrating on looking after you.

You shift a little to sit cross-legged, you’re legs have cramped and sensing you’re at that point now she wont tell you off further for not being on your knees. You bite your lip. Your uncertainty holds you hostage, but after everything you've been through with her, you need to know. “Did it … _help?_ I mean, you got what you needed?” You glance over your shoulder as her hand pauses mid-air, only for a second, before carrying on what she was doing.

“Yes.” Wilhemina replies succinctly. Her … _needs_ seemed to either tease or torment her, and her body language shifted as such. You could go a little way to understanding how her shame tortured her, but to try and reject such feelings entirely was a fools errand. For as much as anyone else, she had enjoyed having sex. It was natural, instinctive. She’d moaned tugged you in harder, her body had sung to your touch. And then she had punished you for it. “It will do for now.” She shifted in closer behind you. “But, I’ve got to ask.” Her voice swayed as though she were about to share some dirty gossip with you. “Usually people would say thighs, _backside_ …” Miss Venable was nearly at the bottom of your back before she continued. “Why did you choose your hand?”

You turn your hand over in your lap, inspecting the sharp red lines across your skin for yourself, the way she had, a reverence in the way you saw them. The blood leaking under your skin and bringing greens browns purples with it, bruises seeping around the lines she had created. “So I could see it,” You admit, then tuck you hand away under your leg. This was _your_ shame to own and hide. You weren’t sure how you felt about it, giving in to something you had held so close. Enjoying being struck, being beaten. How could someone enjoy that? But even with the risk that came with giving her an outlet for her compulsions, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, huffing to yourself. At least Miss Venable understood; and like she had said, there was no-one left to judge you. “I’m enjoying _this_ …,” Your voice lightened, smiling to yourself. She _could_ be tender, when she wanted. The stroke of your hair, the brush of your cheek, now she tended the wounds she had made with a delicate touch that expressed more emotion than she ever could verbally.

Its then you feel something soft on your shoulder, a sensation you don't recognise, among the pain and the sting and the wincing between wipes of disinfectant, this is different. You turn and glance to her, registering the softness is her lips.

Wilhemina leans and kisses you gently on the back of your shoulder. “Me too.”


End file.
